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I open my mouth to respond before realizing that it’s right. I’m not married, so I don’t have to worry about what my husband might say if he found out that another man knocked me up. I’ll probably have to deal with men like Fredo who think I whored myself out, but I can slough that off onto Michael’s plate. He can handle that.
And I wanted a child, right? Does it matter that it’s Alessandro’s? If he doesn’t want to be the father, that’s fine. I can raise a baby on my own. I’ve done harder things than changing a few diapers and dealing with a screaming infant. And being in charge of this family gives me unlimited access to the wives. That could be beneficial, right?
But it strikes me that Alessandro might get angry about this pregnancy. Instead of withdrawing from his role, he might lash out. I’ve never seen him lose his temper, but I’ve asked around. He’s killed his fair share of men, many of them with his bare hands. Alessandro has a knack for digging his fingers into someone’s throat until he rips the skin in two and bares their bones.
A shiver runs down my spine and I place a protective hand over my belly. “Sweet babe,” I coo to the baby inside, “I won’t let that happen to you.” Alessandro won’t put his hands on me. I swore when Ricardo died that I’d never let another man touch me that way again.
I fumble with the phone in my pocket until it spills onto the floor. The best way to break this news is via a phone call. I can gauge Alessandro’s anger this way, or perhaps his excitement. If he seems like he might try to rip out my trachea, I’ll have the house guarded 24/7 until he gives up.
“Good morning, gorgeous,” he greets with what sounds like a smile. “Can I bring you coffee and a bagel?”
My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I am, indeed, hungry. After throwing up what was left of last night’s dinner, my stomach is empty. “Maybe,” I respond with a frown that he can’t see, “but we need to talk first.”
There’s an uncharacteristic pause on the other end of the line. Whatever Alessandro was doing before I called fails to exist; I just hear silence.
“Is now a good time?” I ask before breaking the news. Nausea rises up in my throat again and my stomach turns over. God, this was a mistake. He’s going to be so angry. He’ll kill me. He’ll rip me apart piece by piece and then burn all those pieces and then throw the ashes in various bodies of water. No one will ever find my body.
Alessandro clears his throat. “Yes, now is fine. What’s wrong, Willow?” Concern echoes in his tone and it settles my turbulent nerves.
“I’m pregnant,” I announce over the line, “and it’s yours.” I wish I’d thought to video call him. If I could see his face, this would be easier. Instead, I have to judge the weight of the silence that follows my admission.
“Stay where you are,” he says with a huff, “I’m on my way over.” The line goes dead and I’m afraid that I’m next.
I get off the bathroom floor and stare at the crazed woman in the mirror. “Where’s my gun?” I mumble to my reflection. I’m not going to shoot Alessandro, I tell myself, but I’m going to keep it on me for protection. Just in case.
14
ALESSANDRO
I’ve made more than a dozen deposits into this woman over the last few weeks. I filled her with my seed and watched her sweet little pussy explode with my cream. Nothing is sexier than seeing a woman dripping from taking your load.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited about this call. In fact, I expected it sooner. I was beginning to think that Willow was on some kind of birth control. I know six weeks isn’t a long time to be trying for a baby, but it felt like an eternity.
I speed race to her home, pushing all the laws of the road by passing cars on empty stretches of backwoods highways. The reasonable part of my brain says to slow down, don’t make Willow a widow, or leave your child fatherless before it’s even born. So as I approach the last couple of miles, I let off the gas.
“Amelia,” I test the name on my tongue. “Alessandro.” Saying my own name sounds weird, but wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a boy? Someone to follow in my footsteps and take over when I retire. Someone I can teach my strengths and weaknesses to so that he doesn’t make the same mistakes that I did.
With Willow’s house in view, my heart starts to race. What will we do about her family? What will happen to mine? Will she step down as the head of the Parodis? Will she marry me now? There are too many unanswered questions.
I find her sitting on the wrap-around porch as I pull into the circle drive in front of her house. She’s wearing a tank top paired with shorts. Her eyes are a little gaunt, but I can see from the car that she has a gun lying on the table next to her. For a second I wonder if this is a trap. Am I going to get out of this car and get blasted away?
But Willow doesn’t strike me as that kind of woman. She doesn’t seem like the type to spend weeks fucking a man just to get him to let his guard down before killing him. Willow is a strange woman with desires so dark and twisted that I don’t know how to describe them, but that’s what attracts me to her. Her darkness matches me. While she’d never rip someone’s throat out, she would happily watch them bleed out before her from a gunshot to the right location.
I climb out of my car and walk toward the open seat a couple of feet from hers. I keep my eyes off the gun as a show of confidence. “You look tired,” I tell her as I sit down. I reach across the expanse to place a comforting hand on her knee. “Are you okay?”
I don’t know what I’m expecting, but Willow surprises me. “Morning sickness,” she says with a shrug of her shoulders. “Probably mixed with shock. I thought I had the stomach flu these past three days. But every time I vomited, I felt instantly better. Yesterday I had a suspicion, so I went out and bought every test Walgreens had.” Willow looks off into the distance. “It was like this with the other two, too,” she says quietly, “I should have known.”
Other two? She doesn’t have any children. Or at least I’ve never seen any. Ricardo Parodi, for all that he hated his wife, would have announced with pride if she was expecting. “What happened before?”
Willow doesn’t look at me. Instead, her hand slides up from her lap and covers her stomach. She hasn’t gained a lick of weight if you ask me, but it’s a protective maneuver. “A car bomb the first time. Someone in your service placed it on the wrong car. As we were trying to escape the blast, we were thrown to the ground. The doctor thought the force was what caused it.”
I was the one responsible for the loss of her first child. Something inside of me shatters. “Willow, if I had known,” I start.
She holds up a hand to cut me off. “It’s not your fault, really. I blamed you for a while, but after that night at Bella’s,” her cheeks flush red, “I realized that it wasn’t your fault. It was always Ricardo’s fault.”
Silence pervades the space around us as Willow breathes in deeply. She’s beautiful in the morning sun. The slight breeze causes tiny wisps of her hair to fly behind her, giving Willow an ethereal look. “The second time was just a few months ago when Ricardo died. The doctor thought it was stress.”
My fault again. I close my eyes in shame and think about the two children Willow should have. One of them a year old, the other just a few weeks away from being born. I’m such a heel. “I’m so sorry. I never thought that my actions would have an effect on you.”
